


Not Alone

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis remind each other in different ways that none of them are alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Meant to publish this before I went to work today, rather than after, but there we are.
> 
> Self-indulgent fluff. The non-tagged pairings can be read as romantic or otherwise, depending on what floats your boat.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Bossuet was awoken by something cold and wet pressing against his bare foot, and it took all of his self-control to not kick out instinctively, especially when the sensation was followed by a wet warmth. He sat slowly to find that his foot was currently being licked by a rather happy looking dog, who stared at Bossuet like he was the greatest thing the dog had ever seen. “Hello there,” Bossuet said cautiously, reaching down to pet the dog between its silky ears. “Where’d you come from?”

The dog, of course, didn’t answer, though it scooted closer so that Bossuet could pet its back as well, panting happily as Bossuet complied. “You really can’t be here,” Bossuet told the dog, though any willpower he might’ve had was quickly melting away. “Joly’s allergic to dogs, not to mention, of course, the diseases…”

As if on cue, Joly poked his head into the room. “Oh, good. Glad you’ve found each other.”

Bossuet looked guiltily from the dog, who nudged his hand to try to get him to keep petting, to Joly, who was smiling. “He just showed up,” Bossuet told him. “I don’t know where he came from.”

“Well, luckily, I do. Robby is a therapy dog at the hospital, and his owner’s out of town this weekend and was looking for someone to dog-sit, so I volunteered.”

Blinking in surprise, Bossuet said slowly, “But you’re allergic to dogs.”

“And I stocked up on more Claritin and allergy meds than one person should have. Besides—” Joly moved to sit next to Bossuet on the bed, grabbing Bossuet’s hand, the one not busy still petting the dog, “I know you’ve been down the past couple of days, so I just thought, you know. Might cheer you up. Since I know how you love dogs.”

Bossuet leaned in and kissed him. “It does. Thank you. Seriously. I love you.”

Joly smiled. “I love you, too.” The dog let out a woof and wormed his head between the two of them to force even Joly to start petting him, which he did while laughing. “And I think this guy does as well.”

* * *

 

“Brought you something.”

Marius didn’t even look up from where he was bent over his law homework. “That’s nice,” he said distractedly. “Leave it on my bed or something.”

Courfeyrac leaned against the doorway. “That probably wouldn’t be a great idea,” he said mildly. “It might get all over your comforter.”

Heaving a sigh, Marius turned around in his chair, already frowning, though he paused when he saw what Courfeyrac was holding. “Ice cream?”

“You scream, we all scream for ice cream,” Courfeyrac said blithely, crossing to Marius to hand him one of the ice cream cones. “Figured you could use something sweet.” He winked. “Just like you.”

Marius took the ice cream reluctantly, glancing back at his assignment. “I really shouldn’t…” he said slowly. “I’ve still got three chapters to read and another 5000 words to write before tomorrow…”

Courfeyrac smiled gently. “And that just means you could use a little break.” Marius shook his head, and Courfeyrac sighed. “Fifteen minutes. Come on. Just fifteen minutes to clear your head.” After hesitating, Marius nodded slowly, and Courfeyrac beamed at him. “Good. Now eat your ice cream before it melts all over the place.”

* * *

 

“You ever have one of those weeks?” Bahorel asked slowly, not looking at Feuilly, his finger tracing slowly through the condensation on his beer glass.

Feuilly snorted. “Yeah, I have.”

Bahorel nodded slowly and tossed back the end of his beer. “Yeah.”

They fell silent and Feuilly glanced over at Bahorel, trying to find something to say. Part of him, a larger part than he necessarily wanted to admit, wanted to ask bitterly what could _possibly_  be bother Bahorel. After all, Feuilly had also had a shitty week — his hours had been cut at one of his jobs, he had been reprimanded at another when he was late because he overslept, and to top it all off, his electricity bill was higher than normal and he wasn’t entirely sure why, or where he was supposed to get the money to pay for the unexpected cost.

But he didn’t say any of that, just looked at Bahorel, at the way he gripped his beer glass, the way his gaze was downcast, the way his shoulders were uncharacteristically slumped.

And instead, Feuilly slid off his barstool, made his way to the bar, and returned with two beers, sliding one across to Bahorel. “Here,” he said, gruffly.

Bahorel looked up at him, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” Feuilly shrugged. “You looked like you needed it.” He held up his own beer. “To shitty weeks.”

Bahorel clinked his glass against Feuilly’s. “To shitty weeks.” He paused before adding, quietly, “To good friends.”

Feuilly nodded and took a sip of his beer before saying dryly, “‘Good’? That’s what I get? Really?”

“If you had bought me whiskey, maybe it would have been ‘great’,” Bahorel shot back, but he was smiling. And together they drank their beer.

* * *

 

The only sound was the occasional turning of a page and the far-off sound of the clock above the librarian’s desk ticking. Combeferre leafed slowly through his anatomy textbook, feeling a headache coming on, and he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose underneath the nose pads of his glasses.

Jehan looked over at him, dark circles surrounding his eyes and the remnants of his dissertation chapter — recently torn apart by his dissertation committee — in front of him. He managed a small smile, which Combeferre tried to return, though he was sure his effort looked more like a grimace.

As such, it didn’t surprise him when the smile slid off of Jehan’s face, replaced by something more serious, and Jehan slowly leaned forward, eyes scanning through Combeferre’s book as if looking for something. Then, deliberately, Jehan circled a word in a paragraph on the preceding page before sitting back in his seat.

Combeferre looked down. Jehan had circled the word ‘penis’.

He looked up at Jehan, who smiled beatifically at him and gave him a wink, and Combeferre managed a real smile and a hastily stifled giggle before returning to his textbook, his headache staved off for the time being by the smile that lingered.

* * *

 

“Want to go out for dinner?”

“No.”

“Want me to cook for you?”

Grantaire shot Enjolras a dirty look. “Seeing as I’d rather not die…”

Enjolras sighed. “Want me to do anything to help you?”

Grantaire sighed as well. “No,” he said, almost reluctantly. “It’s not you, I promise. I love you — you know that. And you’re amazing. It’s just sometimes…I don’t know. Sometimes I feel alone.”

Nodding slowly, Enjolras crossed over to where Grantaire was sitting bundled in a blanket on the couch and kissed the top of Grantaire’s head. “I’ll be right back,” he promised quietly. “And you know I’m here for you.”

Grantaire did know — and that didn’t make it easier. In many ways, it just made it worse, because shouldn’t Enjolras be enough? But on days like this, there was no enough.

So he just waited for Enjolras to come back, and then leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes as Enjolras settled in next to him.

He might’ve fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the fact that fifteen minutes later, the door to their apartment opened up and almost as one their entire group of friends piled in, talking and laughing and passing around beer bottles that they had brought with them. Grantaire blinked up at them as they came and sat down in the living room. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Movie night,” Bossuet told him, grinning, Joly perched on his lap in the arm chair. “We weren’t doing anything—”

“—nothing important, anyway,” Jehan cut in, smiling up at Grantaire from where he had settled on the floor. “And we just figured, it’d been too long since we’d done this—”

“—and besides, there’s never a bad time for a Disney movie,” Combeferre said seriously, nudging Grantaire companionably. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

Grantaire glanced around at his friends, all smiling and cheerful, and felt himself smile a little, too. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, let’s watch it. Whose choice is it?”

“Feuilly’s,” everyone answered in unison, and Bahorel sighed and rolled his eyes. “Which means we all know what movie he’s going to pick.”

Feuilly gave him the finger. “Gosh, I don’t know, maybe the movie with a kick-ass orphan who manages to make a way for himself? Why in the world would I be inspired by that movie?”

Courfeyrac sniggered. “Sounds like Enjolras’s wet dream.” Enjolras made a noise like a growl in the back of his throat and Courfeyrac blew him a kiss. “Besides, I love it for the genie. Best ever, man.”

“Speaking of genies,” Combeferre said excitedly, “I was reading a story about the history of djinn, and—”

The entire room groaned as one, and Combeferre pouted. “Well,  _I_  thought it was interesting,” he grumbled.

Feuilly went and put the film in the DVD player, and as the familiar strains of Aladdin started, Grantaire glanced over at Enjolras. “Did you do this?” he asked quietly while their friends all started singing the first song.

Enjolras just drew Grantaire close and kissed him on the temple. “You’re not alone,” he told him simply. “You’re not alone.”


End file.
